


Do You Get The Picture?

by chinesebakery



Series: Busted! [3]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Comedy, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Mild Sexual Content, Sexting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-08-13 19:00:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7982665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chinesebakery/pseuds/chinesebakery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Jemma is sent away on a mission, shortly after the beginning of their relationship, FitzSimmons try their hands at sexting. What could possibly go wrong?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do You Get The Picture?

_[Fitz:] How long is this bloody mission supposed to last?_

_[Fitz:] At this point, I even miss the way you use me as a hot-water bottle._

_[Jemma:] Not too long I hope. It's lonely here without you._

_[Jemma:] And believe it or not, your abnormally warm calves are not what I'm yearning for the most._

Fitz's mouth twitched. It _was_ terribly lonely without her. Lonely and _dull_. It was the first time they were apart for more than a few hours since they'd started dating, and he felt her absence every lousy moment he spent without her in the lab. It had been only 4 days, but time passed slowly when you were grumpy and miserable.

_[Fitz:] Really? What is?_

_[Jemma:] I miss your mouth. And your hands. And that thing you do with your teeth. You know the one._

Fitz sighed. Loudly. He knew the thing. He missed doing the thing more than she missed being on the receiving end of it, he was fairly sure.

_[Jemma:] What about you, Dr. Fitz? What do you miss most about me?_

Whoa. Dr. Fitz, already? She meant _business_.

Was it rude to tell your girlfriend or a few weeks that you were thinking about her tits pretty much all day long? It wasn't what he missed _most_ about her, necessarily. It was just... the first thing that came to mind. At any given moment, really. But he had no clue whether that answer would please or offend her.

_[Fitz:] Your indomitable wit and scintillating personality?_

_[Jemma:] Really Fitzy? That's what you're going for?_

_[Fitz:] Your breasts, okay? Definitely your breasts. They're so perfect and freckled. Perfectly freckled. I could look at them all day long._

_[Jemma:] Maybe that can be arranged…_

Fitz gulped and sat a little straighter in his chair. Was she suggesting… what he thought she was suggesting? She'd sent rather suggestive texts before, but _that_ would be a first. Not that he was opposed to it. At all.

He stared intently at his cell, willing it to start vibrating again. But when it did, anticipation quickly gave way to crushing disappointment.

_[May:] What are you waiting for? I need those coordinates yesterday._

"Bloody hell," he groaned, before grudgingly looking up to the monitor. The algorithm was still running. _As expected_. "Those people have no patience," he muttered. "I'm slaving away, doing the work of TWO senior agents, you'd think they'd be _just a little_ grateful but _nooo_... It's all 'What's taking so long?' and 'Why can't you make it run faster?'‒"

Before he could give Agent May a piece of his mind, his phone started gliding across his desk again, this time with a text from Jemma.

When he opened it, his brain shut down entirely.

_[Jemma:] For all your ogling needs._

The message was followed by a picture. Her face wasn't in it, but he would recognize _that view_ of her anywhere.

She'd unbuttoned her shirt and pulled a bra strap down to her elbow, leaving one pale, round, perky boob entirely exposed, while the other remained covered with pink lace. It was a great pic, clear and well-lit‒ he could practically count the freckles sprinkled over her skin. He wondered where it had been taken. Somewhere a little cold, apparently.

A follow-up text soon appeared under the photo.

_[Jemma:] If you play your cards right, I'll show you the other one._

" _Shit,_ " Fitz groaned

"Is there a problem, Dr. Fitz?"

He cleared his throat and waved dismissively in the direction of the lab tech. "No, no, everything's fine. Go back to work."

Fitz readjusted himself as discreetly as he could, cradling his phone in his hand. Jesus. He would give anything for an hour alone with her right about now. She wouldn't even need to take off her clothes‒ just one bare breast would be enough to keep him entertained, as long as he was allowed to stare and touch and maybe run his tongue over‒

_[Jemma:] So? Did you like the picture?_

_[Fitz:] Let me think… YES._

_[Jemma:] Then show me._

She _would_ be the end of him. No question about that.

***

Ten minutes later, Fitz was still locked in a poorly lit bathroom stall with his trousers pulled down and his phone clutched in his hand, huffing one frustrated sigh after another. He had never been very good at selfie, but this one was proving especially challenging.

Ignoring the buzz signaling incoming texts, he glared at the depressing rows of crotch shots now populating his recent pictures, wondering how anyone in their right mind could find _that_ arousing.

It would probably go better if he did this in front of a mirror, but there was no way he was risking getting caught standing by the bathroom lavatory with his pants down his ankles. This would have to do.

He took another few pictures, then began deleting dozens of blurry snapshots of his tented underwear before he finally picked one. It wasn't nearly as enticing at _her_ picture, but the bulge peeking from his boxers left very little to the imagination‒ perhaps she would like that.

Should he use a filter or something? No. No, that was too weird. The line had to be drawn somewhere, and he drew it at beautifying his dick pics.

As he buttoned his pants, he wondered if she could be convinced to send a picture of her knickers. Now _that_ would be fucking sexy, and turnabout was fair play, after all.

Distracted by that stimulating thought, Fitz opened his recent texts, selected the picture and pressed 'Send', before he strolled back to his desk, an anticipatory grin playing on his face. The moment he dropped into his chair, his phone started throbbing again. He pulled it from his pocket, eager to discover her reaction, when‒

"Fuck," he gasped, almost dropping the phone. "Fuck. Fuckfuckfucknofuck."

_[May:] Not the kind of measurements I was looking for._

_[May:] Good to know you're holding the fort in Dr Simmons absence._

_[May:] I guess I should congratulate you both._

_[May:] Unless that really was meant for me._

_[May:] In which case thanks but no thanks._

_[May:] Now about those coordinates?_

So. That had happened.

Fitz felt like one of those cartoons characters with smoke spurting out of their ears. His face certainly felt hot enough that a spontaneous combustion couldn't be ruled out. And quite frankly, if the ground suddenly opened and set about swallowing him whole, he would probably not fight much. He would go willingly and as dignifiedly as the situation allowed. Admittedly, not a lot.

Wretched and piteous, Fitz sat for a good long while with his head in his hands, trying to get a hold of himself. When he did, he first sent the coordinates to May, abstaining from any comment‒ it was enough that he wouldn't be able to look her in the eye anytime soon‒ then began reading through Jemma's recent messages.

_[Jemma:] What's taking so long?_

_[Jemma:] Honestly Fitz I've seen it before, there's no need to make a fuss._

_[Jemma:] If you're taking matters into your own hands, you could at least give me a preview._

_[Jemma:] By the way, I think May knows._

_[Jemma:] She just asked me really odd questions. And also congratulated me._

_[Jemma:] FITZ_

_[Jemma:] WHAT DID YOU DO!?_

_[Jemma:] Sexting 101: triple check you're sending your genitals to the right recipient!!!_

Head bowed down, Fitz typed the only thing he could think to add to this mess.

_[Fitz:] You need to come home. I clearly can't function without you._


End file.
